The Interrogation
by evesharmony
Summary: **Updated** Scully gets fed up with being ditched and takes Krycek along for the ride.
1. Just Another Day at the Office

AUTHOR: Eve (alfa_fighter_3@mailhaven.com)  
  
TITLE: The Interrogation  
  
RATING: PG-13  
  
PAIRING: Krycek/Scully, allusions to Krycek/Mulder. My inner Skipper is having a field day, people!  
  
SPOILERS: Gah. There's nothing past Paper Clip, but I mixed and matched to suit my own nefarious purposes. If I don't mention it, assume that it didn't happen.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. I picked up Krycek on the side of the road one night, and you know what they say. Finders keepers.  
  
SUMMARY: Scully's fed up with being ditched and takes Krycek along for the ride. Literally.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would like to apologize in advance to all Americans for my gross distortion of geography and motel room pricing.  
  
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated, and always replied to!  
  
  
  
9:20 AM  
  
Basement, FBI Headquarters  
  
  
  
"But Mulder--wait! Where--"  
  
The other end of the line is already dead. I snap the phone shut and without looking toss it on his desk. A great feat of rebellion for me. Then I straighten the pile of papers the phone has scattered.  
  
He's done it again. Mulder has gone off on some wild goose chase based on information I doubt is more tangible that a shoelace. If there's any connection at all. A wrong number. A paper at his door. The off hand remark of a complete stranger. These are all clues to Fox Mulder. Clues of his conspiracy that he has no problem expounding to me in the relative safety of our basement office. But when it comes down to actually going out and doing something, he ditches me time and time again. I've tried to rationalize it away. He's so used to working alone that he doesn't always think to call; he thinks I'll be mad at being dragged off to parts unknown in the middle of the night for some case that sounds absolutely ludicrous; or, because I'm a woman, he doesn't think I can handle myself and chooses to pursue his task alone rather than risk my life. There's likely a grain of truth to all my theories, but it comes down to just one thing: he can be such an ass sometimes. He didn't even say where he was going.  
  
There will probably be a dead body somewhere along the line that he'll want me to autopsy. Other than that, I won't hear from him until he returns, finding nothing, but convinced that another part of the puzzle has been set in place. He'll either show up at work one day, or I'll get a call saying that he's in the hospital. Again. Such is my life.  
  
I sit down at his desk, adjusting the chair so that my feet touch the ground. Normally I put a phone book down so he won't have to fix it the next time he sits, but I'm too irritated to care. There'd a pile of paperwork on the corner of the desk, away from all the clutter. No doubt so I can spot it easily. Well screw it. Mulder can start writing his own damn reports. What did he do when I was gone?  
  
I sift through the mess in front of me, quickly growing bored with cow mutilations, UFO sightings in Texas, and vampires. Apparently Ogopogo has made another appearance. The reports quickly form three piles on the surface of the desk: somewhat bogus, bogus, and completely bogus. I sigh in defeat and reach for the paperwork. My defiance has lasted an entire twenty minutes this time. 


	2. Heavy Breathing

2:03  
  
Basement, FBI Headquarters  
  
By two I'm bored out of my mind. I've even added a few new holes to Mulder's ceiling. I can't get the pencils to stay up there like he does. The paperwork is done, I've filed everything that can be filed. Lunch in the cafeteria is less than savory. At least with Mulder there I would've had someone to talk to. Mostly everyone just avoids me, like I've caught the 'spooky' bug. The highlight of the day comes at one thirty when some heavy breather calls looking for Mulder. At first I think it's one of his paranoid schizophrenic 'sources' because the breather is very adamant about speaking to Mulder and that he can't leave a message with me. Out of sheer curiosity I call up to the switchboard and ask to have the number of the last caller. It's for an adult video store.  
  
At four I contemplate calling Miss Bobby Jane Jenkins of Abilene, Texas, about her UFO sighting just for something to do, when the phone rings. Skinner wants me in his office. ASAP. God. What did Mulder do now?  
  
I had a dream about Skinner once. He called me up to his office and when I stepped inside he was laid out on his desk wearing nothing but a grin and a strategically placed bowl of strawberries. After that, every time I saw the AD I got a craving for a strawberry milkshake. Thank God there's an ice cream vendor a few blocks away from the building. After a week Mulder commented on it, and I'd had to resort to carrying candies in my pocket until the obsession passed. I gave him some lame excuse about sugar and hormones and he dropped it.  
  
Kim ushers me in to Skinner's office. I wonder for the thousandth time if they're having an affair.  
  
"Sit down, Agent Scully. I've just gotten word that Agent Mulder has Alex Krycek in custody."  
  
"Sir?" I have trouble believing that Mulder captured Alex Krycek on his own. Mulder is a good Agent, but Krycek is a trained assassin. If you catch him, you better believe it's because he wants to be caught.  
  
"Krycek was found in New Mexico. I'd like you to meet Agent Mulder in Monument and aid him in the investigation."  
  
"And what are the details of the investigation?"  
  
He hands me a file over his enormous desk, and I have to lean forward to grab it. I suddenly become aware of the fact that the blouse I'm wearing is a little more low cut than I'm used to. Skinner's eyes widen just for a second at my exposed cleavage before he schools his face back to its normally stoic expression. As I lean back he clears his throat and answers my question.  
  
"The details are sketchy. I haven't been able to speak directly to Agent Mulder yet--this report was passed on by a local sheriff. It seems that Krycek was just following Mulder, but no one knows for sure. I want this one by the book Agent Scully. This weasel isn't getting away again. Everything's arranged--your flight leaves in an hour. I hope that's enough time to prepare."  
  
And if it isn't, what can I do about it? "Yes Sir," I reply as I leave the office. So I'm the babysitter. Make sure Mulder doesn't kill Krycek before we can prosecute him for--for what? There's absolutely no proof that Krycek has done anything, other than sketchy eye witness accounts and some circumstantial evidence. Kim smiles at me on the way out and then enters Skinner's office. I wonder if I have enough time to stop for a milkshake. 


	3. The Prisoner

7:33 PM  
  
Monument Police Station, New Mexico  
  
So, the elusive Alex Krycek. I have no idea why we're all here, because the casefile that Skinner handed me is sitting, unread and forgotten, on my kitchen counter. I eye Krycek coolly as Mulder gets in his face, jerks him by the collar of his leather jacket a few times, raises his hand as if to slug him, then slams him back in the chair so hard it almost tips over. To his credit, Krycek regains his balance quickly, the smug expression never once leaving his face. I realize that Mulder is looking at me like I'm supposed to say something. What could I say? Truth be told, I haven't been listening to either of them for the past ten minutes. Mulder's face reflects his confusion at my silence, and even Krycek seems a little more unsure than he was a second ago. That's right. I'm the one with the chain- -I rein Mulder in when he gets out of control. Not this time. You're on your own, just like me.  
  
Mulder spins away to continue his interrogation, refocussing his energy on Krycek. Krycek, however, is watching me now. I meet his eyes, noting that they narrow slightly as we size each other up.  
  
He's bigger that I remember. Either he's been working out, or those butt ugly suits were really good at hiding his physique. The Leave it to Beaver haircut is gone, a harsh buzz in its place. I can see blood on his lips from a cut Mulder must have caused before I got here. There is an air of cold, calculating arrogance about Krycek. He's no longer the fresh faced rookie who pukes at the sight of a dead body and follows Mulder around like a lost puppy. No, he is something else entirely.  
  
And he looks good.  
  
Krycek keeps staring back at me as Mulder rails, unaware than no one in the room is paying attention to him. I resist the tug at the corner of my mouth. The mere mention of Krycek's name is enough to send Mulder into cataplexy. Something must have happened while they were partners. Krycek's betrayal isn't enough to cause this devotional hatred. I've asked Mulder about it enough times to realize just how stubborn my partner is. Still, even though he continues to claim that nothing else happened, I have an idea.  
  
When Mulder really gets on a roll he can go for hours. I settle back against the wall to continue the staring contest. Yeah, Krycek's a killer, but I've got two X chromosomes. If I pull out the eyebrow arch he's a dead man. I get a sudden flashback to the milkshake I had before getting on the plane. They didn't have strawberry, so I had to settle for banana. I sense a new dream coming on.  
  
I lick my lips and note that Krycek's gaze follows the movement. Interesting. I do it once more just for fun. Sure enough, his eyes lock onto my tongue as it sweeps across my upper lip. On a whim I run my fingers under the collar of my blouse, all the way down to the V and back up again. Man, this blouse really is low cut. No wonder Skinner's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Krycek's adams apple bobs once. Very interesting. I feel naughty. Three acts of outright defiance in one day. I think that's some sort of record for me.  
  
Apparently Mulder has realized that he's shouting to himself, because he grabs Krycek by the lapels to get his attention. I wonder where he got that leather jacket. It looks expensive, despite the obvious wear. Mulder slaps Krycek on the side of the head and the smirk falters briefly as he breaks eye contact. I win. But I'm supposed to be making sure that Mulder doesn't beat him to a pulp. Somehow I think that if Krycek really wanted to hurt Mulder, Mulder would be on the floor faster than you could say 'the speed of light'. But I'm the responsible one here. And Krycek already has more than enough reason to charge Mulder with assault.  
  
"Mulder." The commanding tone of my voice surprises even me. It's the first time I've spoken since laying eyes on our prisoner. Two sets of eyes snap toward me. If I can believe it, Krycek looks a little relieved. Mulder looks startled, like I just woke him from a dream where he was beating on Alex Krycek.  
  
"Mulder, I think you should step outside for a moment."  
  
"Scully--"  
  
"Now Mulder. He's handcuffed to the chair. I'll be fine."  
  
Mulder lets go of Krycek's jacket and gives him one last parting swat, avoiding my glare as he leaves the room. "If he pulls anything, I'll be right outside," he says before shutting the door behind him. Mulder must have scowled at Krycek because Krycek's smirking over my shoulder. When the door bangs shut he relaxes, shoulders sinking, eyelids drooping slightly.  
  
"You two do an excellent good cop bad cop."  
  
Those are the first words I've really heard out of his mouth since Mulder's interrogation began. His voice is different than I remember, too. Lower. Harsher.  
  
"Is that what you think this is?"  
  
He shrugs. "What else could it be? Mulder flies off the handle. You fix it. It's always that way."  
  
I can't help but snort. Isn't that the truth? He looks surprised by my tiny outburst but remains silent. If it weren't for the fact that I've been wearing these pumps since seven this morning, I think I could just stand here and stare at him for days. There's something fascinating about this Alex Krycek. The other one was clean cut, geeky, easy to brush off and ignore. This one exudes confidence, even when he's letting Mulder beat him up. I wonder how he makes such a good spy. He has a little too much presence, is a little too good looking . . .  
  
"You know, your interrogation tactics leave much to be desired."  
  
I step over to the table and slide myself onto the edge. My feet are dangling above the linoleum, but these damn shoes are giving me blisters anyway so I let them fall to the floor and flex my toes. He's looking at my feet now, and I lean toward him.  
  
"What makes you think I give a damn about anything you have to say?" It's not harsh--just the plain statement of the truth.  
  
He leans forward, as far as he can with his wrists cuffed to the chair, trying to crowd my space. He's close enough that I can see there's still blood oozing out of his lip. And a shadow of a bruise is beginning to form on his left temple. Geez Mulder.  
  
"Well, Scully, if you don't care what I have to say then why are you here?"  
  
"Because Skinner gave me the ticket and told me to keep a leash on him." No need to explain who 'he' is. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. What is wrong with me today? We stare at each other a beat, and then to my utter disbelief, Alex Krycek, spy and assassin, starts to laugh. I wonder if Mulder will think it's some sort of demented war cry and batter down the door. I watch Krycek's shoulders shake with glee as he lowers his head to the table to contain himself. Every once in a while he snorts. It's almost five minutes before he's silent again. His head is only ten inches from my thigh. I wonder what he'd do if I started petting him. His hair looks soft, and I figure he should let it grow out. A woman likes something she can run her fingers through. Like Mulder's hair. Only not on Mulder.  
  
Krycek turns his head and looks up at me with one eye. "Do you always do what you're told Agent Scully?"  
  
I stop the childish "Do you?" just in time. Since I know the answer to that would be "Of course not," I don't see the point. Instead I pull a tissue from my pocket and dip it in the water glass behind me. I'm getting thirsty for another milkshake. But first things first. I reach for Krycek's face, surprised that he doesn't jerk away. He lets me cradle his chin in my palm while I dab the blood from his lip. The laughing has split open the cut again.  
  
"You'll need stitches for that."  
  
"I'll manage. You never answered my question."  
  
"I'll answer yours if you answer mine." I start probing around his temple.  
  
He grins. His even white teeth show when he grins. The spy guild must have good dental. He could be a model in a toothpaste ad. "Ooh, I love a game. But I thought you didn't care what I have to say."  
  
I don't. But this is my job. I can't just walk out of here and say that I stared at him for an hour.  
  
"Why are you in New Mexico?"  
  
He doesn't even hesitate before answering. "I was following Mulder."  
  
I'm fairly certain that's the first bit of truth anyone has gotten out of him all day. "Why?"  
  
"Uh-huh. My turn. Do you always do what you're told?"  
  
He'd probably laugh at what I considered rebellious. Waiting until the next day to do the dishes. Running a yellow light at a busy intersection. Waiting until the last minute to file my taxes. What I'm doing right now. And what am I doing right now? Playing twenty questions with a known felon while I tend his wounds and wonder how soft his hair is.  
  
"No," I answer.  
  
"Like what?" He realizes his mistake and leans away from my grasp, patiently waiting for my next question.  
  
"Why were you following Agent Mulder?"  
  
"The usual. Looking out for his sorry ass."  
  
I can't quite bring myself to believe that one. Still, he's pretty smooth about it. His arms must be throbbing by now, but he just cocks his head and stares up at me like the answer's obvious. But what do I expect him to say? 'The usual--trying to kill him', 'The usual--trying to thwart his attempts to expose the government conspiracy to conceal the existence of extraterrestrials'. That last one seems a little long winded for Krycek. He doesn't strike me as a man of many words.  
  
I watch him relax and tense his shoulders, wiggle his fingers to get some feeling back into them. I bet that if he really wanted to, he could stand up and knock me unconscious with that metal chair, handcuffs or no. I wonder why he doesn't. Probably because he'd never get past Mulder and all the police in the building.  
  
I know I told Mulder I'd be all right, but there's all sorts of ways a man like Krycek could hurt a small woman like me. He doesn't look especially big sitting all slumped in that chair, but I think he's the same height as Mulder. Disguised strength. Making himself look small, vulnerable, frumpy clothes. Except for the jacket. I think that when Alex Krycek dies I want his leather jacket. And those eyelashes. No man should have glittering green eyes framed by the darkest, longest eyelashes I've ever seen. It's just not fair. If we can find eyewitnesses to his crimes, I bet they'll be able to identify him by those eyelashes alone. My eyes drift from his, down his nose to his lips. Suddenly I realize his mouth is moving.  
  
"Are you listening to me Agent Scully?"  
  
Shit. He must have asked me something. Or he could have just confessed to a dozen murders and I wasn't paying attention.  
  
"Yes," I answer, and realize he just used up his question. I can't help but grin. "My turn."  
  
It's funny the way his face goes from annoyed to confused to depreciating. He finally grins back at me like we're sharing some private joke and waits for my question. I win. There's only one thing I really want to know here. I couldn't care less why he was following Mulder--people follow Mulder all the time and he's still alive and well. And any confession I get out of him won't stand up in court because of Mulder's earlier beating. It would be dismissed because the confession was made under duress. At least, that's what he'd argue. And he'd win. 


	4. Curiosity Kills the Cat

"What happened between you and Mulder when you were partners?"  
  
I swear it's like I just shocked him with a cattle prod. He stiffens and the grin disappears. Guess he wasn't expecting that one. I slide off the table onto the cold linoleum, and there's enough room between him and the table that I can stand comfortably in front of him. I brace my hands on either side of the chair and lean toward him.  
  
"Did you turn him down?"  
  
Krycek's glittering green eyes widen in surprise--he doesn't even bother to point out the fact that I've asked two questions. Unfortunately, he hasn't answered either of them. I try again.  
  
"Did he turn you down?"  
  
I've been to Mulder's apartment enough times to catch a glimpse of his 'video' collection. And let me tell you, it's not all het. In fact, het would be in the minority. Krycek swallows, moves his head back slightly to get away, but there's really no place for him to go.  
  
"I tried to seduce him to gain his trust," he says. Now his voice is downright hoarse. Wonder if I'm doing that?  
  
"And?" I can pretty much figure it out on my own from here, but I still want to hear it.  
  
"And he fell for it. But then he found out I wasn't gay . . ."  
  
Yeah, that's what I had figured. I'm not a Special Agent for nothing. My fine detective skills also notice the direction that Krycek's gaze is taking. I'd forgotten about my blouse. I almost pull away before deciding that I can use this to my advantage. Lucky for you I wore a really nice bra today. Hope you appreciate it. And he seems to. Appreciate it, I mean. His breathing is a bit quicker, short puffs against my chin. I can smell berries. Krycek must have eaten a blueberry muffin in the past hour.  
  
When AD Skinner accidentally looked down my blouse that morning it was like he wished he'd never seen anything. But Krycek--Krycek looks like he wants to take a bite out of me. He actually licks his lips. It's been a long time since a man looked at me that way. Especially since I started working with Mulder. This would be a really bad time for Mulder to come back in. He's bound to get curious soon because he's been out in the hallway for a half hour. The man has the patience of a Christmas Eve crowd at Barney's. So I ask the thing that I'm really curious about.  
  
"And how far did your seduction go?"  
  
His eyes snap up to mine. There's all sorts of interesting emotions swirling around in them. Confusion. Respect. Wariness. Desire. Amusement. I think he actually leans toward me. His nose brushes my cheek, just for an instant.  
  
"That's five questions. You're not playing by the rules, Dana."  
  
I have to admit that his use of my first name startles me. All through med school I was Ms. Scully and then Dr. Scully. In Quantico I was Cadet Scully, then Agent Scully, and finally, just Scully. The only person who calls me Dana is my mother, and I don't see her often enough to be used to it.  
  
"I told you I don't always do what people tell me--Alex." The name rolls off my tongue like a foreign word. I've written the name Alex Krycek, I've spoken it to various law enforcement officials. But he's always been Krycek. Like I've always been Scully. I think Mulder would say there's a certain psychology behind only referring to people by their last names. Keeps things at a distance, less personal, more objective. And it's true, because when I think of Krycek, I think of spy, assassin, double-agent, murderer, thief. When I think of Alex . . .  
  
I get another whiff of blueberries and my mouth begins to water. I really need that milkshake. I don't think they have blueberry milkshakes. And then it comes, unbidden, a vision of Alex Krycek laid out on this very table wearing nothing but a grin and a strategically placed bowl of berries. And then the bowl tips to the side and the berries spill like marbles over strong thighs, bouncing onto the worn linoleum floor. Oh. My. God.  
  
My breath catches, and a tiny line appears across the bridge of his nose as he frowns, looking like he's trying to read my mind. I pray to God that Krycek's spy abilities are not aided by any type of ESP. What are the rules about kissing suspects in custody? Because if he tilts his head to the side just a little, and I lower my mouth . . .  
  
When I think of Alex I think of a man who maybe isn't all that different from me, who's just on the wrong path. Who maybe would have caught my eye when he was Mulder's partner if I hadn't been so jealous and he hadn't had such bad fashion sense. Who has the most amazing eyes I've ever seen on someone who wasn't an airbrushed model, with stubble and messy hair and know-it-all-smirk that just screams lazy sensuality.  
  
"You didn't answer my question," I whisper. I think I'm going to kiss him. I try to tell myself it's purely an interrogation technique, that I'll be able to get anything out of him after this. But even I'm not that deluded. His nose brushes against my cheek again, and again, and now I can tell he's doing it on purpose, trying to see how close I'll let him get. His eyes are closed, those impossibly long lashes spilling onto his cheeks. But when I feel his mouth brush the corner of mine, I forget all about his eyes.  
  
I think about the fact that I'm with a criminal. I think about losing my job. I think about Mulder standing outside.  
  
"He's a screamer, Dana."  
  
Oh God. I turn my head just enough to catch Krycek's mouth and he makes a startled noise that turns into a low moan as I brush my tongue against his lower lip. His mouth opens under mine and his tongue slides past my teeth. I can't believe I've got my tongue in Alex Krycek's mouth. He tastes like coffee and blueberries. Who needs a milkshake when I've got this?  
  
I want to run my fingers through his too-short hair to see if it's as soft as it looks, but my hands won't release their white knuckled death-grip on the arms of the chair. I'm at once frustrated by, and grateful for, the fact that he's handcuffed. Frustrated because I think I'd like to feel his hands on my body, slipping around my waist, pulling me down into his lap, pressing me against him. Grateful because if he did all that, I'd go from Dana Scully FBI Agent to Dana Scully Wanton Hussy faster than you could say "it's been awhile". If I'm not there already.  
  
This is the man that made love to my partner in order to gain his trust so he could betray him. That doesn't have so much impact as the thought of them together. When Krycek slants his lips over mine and his tongue does a wide sweep of my mouth I can imagine that's what he did to Mulder. Those quiet groans and mumbles he makes into my mouth are the same ones he made into Mulder's mouth. And the way he alternates between kissing my breath away and nibbling at my lips is the way he was with Mulder. It's so dirty. And I'm more turned on than I've ever been in my life.  
  
When I groan against his mouth he actually jumps a little. It's the first time I've made a noise and I'm forced back into reality enough to pull out of the kiss. His mouth keeps moving a little, and he leans forward to follow me but is stopped by his restraints. His eyes drift open and they're no longer the glittering green that I admired so much. They're black. His pupils are completely dilated except for the tiniest ring of dark green on the outside. Krycek's broad chest is heaving, and all the air leaves my lungs in a rush as I realize I've been holding my breath. I think that Alex Krycek looking at me like I'm the only woman on earth is the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I can't taste anything but blueberries. I'll never look at them the same way again. I'll never look at Mulder the same way again.  
  
God. Mulder! I've got to get out of here. I don't know how long I've been standing like this, staring into Krycek's face. When I pull back it's like a cold gust of wind blows by, and he blinks a few times looking dazed. I dart away to slip on my pumps and turn my back to him, collecting myself before I face Mulder. If I even look a little bit flustered, he'll assume the worst. And I know I'm flushed and breathless. Suddenly, I don't want Mulder to lay another finger on Krycek. Ever.  
  
Krycek clears his throat, and I think he's going to say something so I take a few steps to the door and open it a crack. Mulder's not there. I open it wider and then step into the hallway. One of the officers glances over at me.  
  
"Where's Agent Mulder?" I ask. He looks confused, so I elaborate. "Tall, angry man in an expensive suit?"  
  
"Oh, he left a little while ago. Didn't say where he was going."  
  
"He left?" I don't believe it.  
  
"Yes ma'am. Is everything all right in there?"  
  
Damn. I guess I'm not completely composed. It's almost a good thing that Mulder took off. Then again, it would serve him right. Guess what Mulder? Your precious partner just made out with a criminal. And she liked it. But Mulder isn't here. He took off. I. Don't. Believe. It. He ditched me. Again. Twice in one day. Now what the hell am I supposed to do? I go back into the interview room and lean against the closed door. What am I supposed to do with Krycek? I take a few steps toward him.  
  
He doesn't look so relaxed anymore. Pensive. Angry, almost.  
  
"He ditched you again, didn't he?"  
  
I scowl at him. Of course that's what happened, but I'm not going to admit it. Anyway, he probably heard my conversation with the officer outside.  
  
"God damn, that stupid sonofabitch!"  
  
And before I know it, he's moving, and I feel a strong arm around my waist, another reaching inside my jacket to get my gun. This is the type of thing I have nightmares about. But my brain must be fogged because all I note is that there's a distinct bulge pressing against my back. Krycek nudges the barrel of the gun under my chin.  
  
"Not a word now, Agent Scully. I've got to get out of here before Mulder gets himself killed . . ."  
  
Does this mean that Krycek really is telling the truth about trying to protect Mulder? I think back to this morning, when I'd heard that Mulder had captured Krycek. He only gets caught because he wants to. I wonder how long he's had the handcuffs undone. The entire time? When I saw him squirming in the chair? During the kiss, when I was being less than attentive to anything but the feel of his mouth on mine? I've been centimeters away from a felon who could have reached up and broke my neck. He could have taken my gun at any time. He could have grabbed me and . . . The idea should terrify me, but it seems obvious that Krycek has no intention of harming me. His grip is more comfortable than confining, and the gun is only grazing my chin. I tilt my head back just in case, and feel his breath in my hair as he begins to mutter angrily.  
  
"Stupid. I can't believe they think he's such a threat. If they only knew what a dumbass he was . . ."  
  
All I can think about is the smell of leather and berries, and the feel of his body pressed against mine. He is as tall as Mulder, but quicker despite his broader frame. My brain goes off on another tangent, and suddenly I imagine that Krycek is pressed up against Mulder, running his hands over Mulder's lean frame. Mulder is mewling and arching his back and begging--  
  
" . . . too short. You make a lousy hostage." Ah. So that's the master plan. My body relaxes further. I'm not concerned about the gun, since it seems that Krycek only wants to use me as a shield to make his escape. But I'd really rather not be a shield. Plus once I think about his plan, I realize how stupid it is. I guess I'm not the only one who isn't thinking clearly. And if there is some danger to Mulder, I'm gonna be there to stop it.  
  
"Is Mulder really in trouble?"  
  
"What? Yes. They don't want him investigating this case, and you know how he makes those incredible intuitive leaps with only shreds of evidence. If only you realized how right he is most of the time--"  
  
I don't really want to hear that. Plus I'm getting impatient. "Give me my gun."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Give me my gun."  
  
"So you can shoot me? You're crazy!"  
  
"There's more than one way out of a police station you know."  
  
As understanding sinks in his hold on me loosens and the gun drops. There are about thirty ways that I could disable him right now. And I know they work. I've used almost all of them since being assigned to the X-files. But unlike Mulder, I have no overwhelming desire to harm Krycek. When I turn to look at him, his hand remains on my waist. He stares at me for a beat, obviously trying to figure out if this is some sort of trick. Finally he hands the gun back.  
  
I tilt my chin toward the chair. "Now put on the cuffs."  
  
"Sounds kinky," he grins. "Who knew Dana Scully was into bondage?" 


	5. Partnership

9:19 PM  
  
Monument Police Station, New Mexico  
  
I tell the boys at the Sheriff's office that I'm transferring the prisoner to a more secure facility for questioning. They crowd around as we walk out. Seems Krycek gave Mulder some trouble coming in. If they're so concerned for my safety, why didn't they check on me in the interrogation room? Krycek follows behind me docilely, like this golden retriever I had as a kid. Sparky. Krycek is slightly more obedient. If Skinner finds out about this I'm going to be in so much trouble. And I'm blaming it on Mulder.  
  
I expect Krycek to demand the car keys, but he goes straight to the passenger side. Mulder always insists on driving, like I'm too fragile to work a car. He always jokes that my legs are too short to reach the pedals. I don't think it's that funny. Besides, the last time I checked cars come with moveable seats.  
  
Wordlessly I hand Krycek my cellphone and his fingers brush mine as he takes it. The near-electric shock that zings up my arm and down into the pit of my belly makes me jump. I don't bother looking over. He's probably smirking at me, but the darkness makes it impossible to see his face anyway. For Mulder, I keep telling myself. This impromptu partnership has nothing to do with the fact that there's a denim covered thigh inches from my hand that I'd love to squeeze. I want to stop for a milkshake, but there's no place open at this time of night.  
  
"He's not answering," he says, voice loud in the silence. When I don't take back the phone he places it on the seat between us. He tries a few more times as we search.  
  
We find Mulder's car just outside of town, still running, door wide open. Krycek unfolds himself gracefully from the car and stretches for a minute. Here's your opportunity to run. There's nothing around us but wide open desert, providing no cover whatsoever, but I'd never catch him in these pumps. I could always shoot him to stop him, but it would be a shame to put a hole in that fabulous leather jacket. I reach under the seat for my flashlight, even though our headlights provide plenty of illumination, and trail behind him as he inspects the scene. Krycek examines the surrounding area, and points at two sets of very voluntary looking footprints on the shoulder of the road, leading off into the darkness. There are no signs of a struggle. He gives the Taurus the once over, finding the casefile under the driver's seat and a bag of sunflower seeds under the other. Mulder's cell phone is laying innocently in the passenger's seat. No wonder he didn't answer any calls. The first four numbers are, of course, from my phone. I see that he's programmed my number under 'Grandma'. I don't know whether to be amused or insulted. I check to see what other calls he received. I don't recognize any of the numbers.  
  
Krycek has his long body half in the car when I hear his, "Got any protection, Dr. Scully?"  
  
It's my turn to be taken aback. "What?"  
  
He looks over his shoulder at me, teeth gleaming in the darkness. "Latex gloves? You'd be surprised what gets lost between the seats in these FBI issued vehicles." I shudder a little, not really wanting to know. "Two pairs, please."  
  
Please? That's a word I never imagined coming out of Krycek's mouth. I get him the gloves and he slides them on with an efficient snap. His torso disappears into the backseat and he plunges his hand downward, immediately coming up with something small and shiny, and oh my God.  
  
"You and Mulder have this car before?" he asks, tossing the foil packet at me. I'm glad that he can't see the blush that steals over my face. You'd think I've never seen a condom before. I stare at it in my hand, not quite sure what to do. I'm tempted to toss it away, but I don't want to let him know how uncomfortable I am. Krycek and a backseat and a condom. I try not to connect the dots. Especially since he's bent over directly in front of me. I shove the offending package in the pocket of my blazer.  
  
After five minutes of staring at what I conclude is a very nice ass, I see Krycek has come up with some hairpins, kleenex, a mug shot of someone that I vaguely remember from a recent murder case on TV, a package of gum, and another latex glove. He's very thorough.  
  
"You would have made a really good agent, Krycek."  
  
He stiffens and pulls out of the car. It seems I've hit a nerve.  
  
"I was a good agent," he says tersely. He takes his bounty back to my car and gets in, turning on the interior light.  
  
Oh. Well, I guess I no longer have to wonder if Krycek's FBI credentials were forgeries. I wonder if he was in any of my classes at Quantico before I started work on the X-files.  
  
I pop the trunk on Mulder's car and shine my flashlight into its depths. Completely empty. Mulder didn't even pack. Must have been an especially exciting--what? I realize I still don't know what the hell Mulder was doing out here in the first place. I lock up Mulder's abandoned car and join Krycek, who's doing a passable imitation of a pout. I'm not sure this day can get any weirder. I guess I shouldn't have complained about being bored. I get sent to New Mexico, Mulder disappears, I'm driving through the desert with Alex Krycek of my own free will, and God help me, I want to kiss him again. I finally catch his eye.  
  
"So what was Mulder doing out here anyway?" His eyebrows shoot up at my ignorance. I shrug. "I'm just the babysitter, remember?"  
  
He smiles and lowers his lashes submissively as he passes me the casefile. Oh brother. Don't tell me I've got another leash to hold. I can barely handle Mulder as it is. I tear my eyes away from the sight of Krycek and focus on the file. Several full color pictures of animal carcasses jump out at me. Cow mutilations. Mulder ran out here for cow mutilations!?  
  
I don't realize I've spoken out loud until Krycek says, "Yeah, but he caught a whiff of what was really going on."  
  
I look at Krycek expectantly.  
  
He turns off the interior light. "I think I know where Mulder's headed. I'll tell you on the way." 


	6. Is it Desert or Dessert?

10:14 PM  
  
Sonora Desert, New Mexico  
  
So here I am, driving through the desert with Alex Krycek sitting shot gun. I can't tell north from south in the inky blackness, but he seems to know where we're going.  
  
"The cow mutilations were just a distraction. Something to occupy the townspeople and the local PD. They've been doing experiments on the local wildlife."  
  
"They?"  
  
"The Consortium."  
  
"As in the people you work for?"  
  
"Worked for, Agent Scully. An attempted car bombing convinced me to seek employment . . . elsewhere."  
  
A thought strikes me. "You risked your life coming out here, didn't you? To look out for Mulder?"  
  
He shifts uncomfortably. "Do you want to hear about the case or not?"  
  
Hmm. Looks like I've hit nerve number two. I wait for him to continue.  
  
"They've got a lab in the middle of nowhere. They steal the animals away and do their experiments, then return the mutilated bodies. They're perfecting the process using the simpler DNA from animals, working their way up to humans."  
  
"What process? For what purpose?"  
  
He pauses for a moment. "I can't tell you."  
  
"This is what Mulder was on to? I thought you were helping him."  
  
"Not helping--protecting. This is one of those things that will get him killed. I was trying to keep him away from it. Bad enough that I have to take you there, but if I tell you what's really going on and they find out you know, you're a dead woman."  
  
He falls silent. I really don't know what to say. Now Krycek is trying to protect me. Nothing is black and white with this man. Is he good, or is he bad? Who's side is he on? What does he want with Mulder?  
  
I'm startled out of my musings by the sound of the Beatles singing "A Hard Day's Night". Krycek quickly changes the station, pausing every once in awhile to listen to songs I don't know by bands I've never heard of. I think the newest CD I own was purchased when CD's first came out. I could tell you hundreds of ways to kill someone, but don't ask me about pop culture. A somewhat familiar guitar riff filters through the speakers and Krycek settles back in his seat, apparently satisfied. It takes the entire intro before I place the song. Hotel California.  
  
On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair,  
  
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air.  
  
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light,  
  
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim, I had to stop for the night.  
  
I chuckle at the opening lines and glance over at Krycek. He's bobbing his head ever so slightly, tapping out the rhythm on his knee. This song came out around '76, didn't it? The Eagles are even a little before my time. I only know the song because Bill had their albums. Krycek notices my glances in the window and turns to look at me.  
  
"Don't tell me you don't like the Eagles."  
  
I shake my head. "It's not that. Krycek, how old are you?"  
  
"I don't want to give away all my secrets, now do I Dana?"  
  
Damn. He called me Dana with that teasing glint in his eye. I suppress the shiver that threatens to run down my spine. If Mulder wasn't in trouble I'd be soooo tempted to stop the car and jump into the passenger seat. And it's a good thing that this road is deserted at this time of night, because I can't seem to keep my eyes on the road. I school myself back into Special Agent Dana Scully mode, but that only lasts a few seconds because then Krycek begins to sing. Not loudly, but just enough that I can hear him over the radio.  
  
Her mind is Tiffany twisted, she got the Mercedes Benz,  
  
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she called friends.  
  
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat,  
  
Some dance to remember; some dance to forget.  
  
Alex Krycek is singing. In my car. He's crooning to the Eagles. Ok, so maybe crooning isn't quite the right word, but the whole situation suddenly becomes ridiculous. I burst out laughing.  
  
Krycek scowls at me. He probably thinks I'm laughing at him. I'm not. Not really.  
  
"What?" He looks highly insulted as he turns down the radio.  
  
"Nothing," I manage to choke out as my laughter begins to abate. Then a tiny frown line appears on the bridge of his nose. He's pouting again-- pursed lips, arms crossed over his chest. I burst into a fresh bout of giggles.  
  
"Geez Krycek, I didn't know you were so sensitive."  
  
The scowl turns into an outright glare, and then his face smoothes out. Uh- oh. This can't be good. Don't predators go completely still right before they pounce?  
  
"Guess I'm still recovering from the second hottest kiss I've ever had."  
  
I've never really known what people mean when they say their heart goes flip-flop, but I think mine just did. I ignore the thrill that most definitely originates in my pelvis and reply coolly, "Second?"  
  
"Becky Millar, in the tenth grade."  
  
I'm a little insulted that he thinks a tenth grader kisses better than me. I'm also a little disoriented by the fact that Krycek had a childhood. He seems to be following my thoughts.  
  
"You always remember your first kiss. She was this shy little girl who got straight A's and played the trumpet. One of my friends dared me to kiss her--we ended up making out like crazy under the bleachers. It's always the quiet ones," he finishes somewhat wistfully. Then he turns a grin on me. "I bet Mulder had you convinced that I was hatched fully-formed."  
  
I wave my hand to dismiss it, even though that's exactly what Mulder said in one of his more colorful tirades. I can't help but say, "Still . . . second?"  
  
Krycek chuckles. I can hear him moving but I don't dare look over. I've never been good at playing easy-to-get. He reaches out and brushes my hair behind my ear, exposing my neck. He leans over and whispers, "I'm sure we could think of a way to erase poor Becky Millar from my memory." His breath is warm against my skin, and still holds the faint scent of blueberries. My mouth begins to water.  
  
"What do you think, Dana?"  
  
God, I think you could make a living as a phone sex operator. I'd call. Without even realizing it, I've slowed down. Mulder, I try to think. Mulder's in danger. But I turn my head slightly and can see him staring at me from the corner of my eye. I lick my lips and his eyes are drawn instantly to the movement. That's how this whole thing started, isn't it?  
  
From Krycek's pocket, my cellphone beings to chirp. I pull the car onto the shoulder. Without moving away he flips it open and leans toward me as he brings the phone to his ear. I clutch at my own thighs as his tongue touches my ear.  
  
"Hello?" he rumbles around my earlobe. The phone is close enough to my ear that I can hear the caller clearly. Mulder must have incredible voice recognition.  
  
"Hello? Krycek! You ratbastard sonofabitch--"  
  
Krycek leans back and holds out the phone. "It's for you," he says with a sardonic smile.  
  
I take the phone and just stare at it for a moment, listening to Mulder's incoherent squawking.  
  
"Mulder." I don't sound quite as intimidating as I did in the interrogation room. Might have something to do with the fact that Krycek is suddenly running his lips lightly over my neck. I try to tell myself that he's just trying to listen in on the conversation.  
  
"Scully? Scully! What's going on? Why did Krycek answer your phone?"  
  
"Because he had it in his pocket."  
  
"What? Are you all right? Has he done anything?"  
  
"I'm fine Mulder," I say at the same time that Krycek murmurs against my skin, "No, but he's about to."  
  
"Scully? What was that?"  
  
Krycek begins tracing small circles over my right knee. He inches the hem of my skirt up and I catch my breath. Thank God I didn't wear pants today.  
  
"N-nothing, Mulder. Where are you? You disappeared from the police station." I try to sound accusing, but it comes out sort of breathy as Krycek abandons my knee to run his hand over my leg, up my torso. I clamp my hand down over his before it reaches my breast and give him a dirty look.  
  
"I'm in Lovington. I got an anonymous tip about some sort of government facility out in the desert, but it turned out to be nothing. Do you still have Krycek in custody?"  
  
I finally turn all the way to look at him. Every few seconds his fingers flex under mine, and I can tell by the flaring of his nostrils that he's trying to control his breathing. "Yeah, he's in custody."  
  
"Great. I'll head back and pick him up. I want that piece of scum in maximum security right away."  
  
"No!" Ok. That came out a little too forcefully. Mulder's puzzled silence is all I hear on the other end. His anger seems so petty, now that I know its cause. He's a jilted lover.  
  
"I mean, why don't you stay there and get some sleep. You've had a long day, so I'll deal with Krycek." Krycek eyes me speculatively and makes to lunge forward, but I stop him with a sharp shake of my head. Down boy. He settles back into the passenger seat, taking his wandering hand with him. He really is more obedient than Sparky.  
  
"Scully, are you sure? I don't think that's such a good idea--"  
  
"I can take care of myself, Mulder. Get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow." I hang up the phone before he can say another word. After a second's thought, I turn it off and toss it out the window. Mulder will probably call back a dozen times, and this way I can say that I really didn't get his calls.  
  
"What did he find?" Krycek asks, grinning at my actions.  
  
"Nothing. Looks like he's dropping the entire thing. Except for you, of course."  
  
"You have to promise me you'll never tell him about it."  
  
I open my mouth to protest, but he jumps back in. "I'm serious, Scully. Mulder's been given a lot of leeway, but this is one of those things that they can't afford to have exposed."  
  
"All the more reason to investigate."  
  
He shakes his head. "Believe me when I say that someone is working on it. Someone will exposes those bastards."  
  
I shouldn't believe him, but I do. I get the feeling that the someone he's talking about is himself.  
  
Now that the hunt for Mulder is over I'm not sure what to do. I doubt Krycek will let me take him back to the police station. The next flight to Washington doesn't leave until tomorrow. And it's been a long, strange day. I need some sleep. But first things first.  
  
I reach out to grab the back of Krycek's head and pull his mouth to mine. His hair is soft. I twist my fingers in the short strands and tug, eliciting a growl from the back of his throat that vibrates through me. In retaliation I feel his hands slide up my back into my hair, and he pulls so my throat is bared to him. He licks and sucks his way down the column of my throat. I don't think I've had a hickey since I was in college. And I didn't enjoy that one nearly as much as this one.  
  
Impatiently I tug his head up and lock our lips together. Krycek kisses like he's a man about to be killed any second. No holding back, completely devouring me until I can't tell which way is up. I finally manage to insinuate a hand inside his jacket and let out a pitiful moan as he sucks my tongue into his mouth. I feel like I've got a tiger beneath my hands. It's dangerous, and scary, and I'm horny as hell. We come together in the middle of the front seat and two seconds later I'm being lifted into his lap. He bucks under me, grinding his arousal into my backside. This is all too much.  
  
I pull away to take a gasping breath and his lips fasten on my neck again. One hand is sliding under my skirt, while the other pinches my nipple.  
  
"Oh Jesus," I gasp, arching my back. I reach blindly for purchase and feel hard denim under my hand. I squeeze his thigh like I've been wanting to do for the last half hour.  
  
"I've been called worse," he growls. "God Dana. You're a hellcat."  
  
"It's always the quiet ones," I reply, quoting him. I feel his body vibrate with silent laughter as he kisses his way down the V of my blouse. If I move my hand just a little to the right . . .  
  
He hisses as I run the heel of my hand over his straining erection. When is the last time I heard a man make those sounds because of me? I can't help the purely feminine smile that stretches my mouth as I say, "How is Becky Millar doing?"  
  
He lifts his head to look at me and the corner of his mouth turns up. "Becky Who?"  
  
Electricity zings between us as our eyes meet. This is so wrong. For reasons I can't begin to count. His hand abandons my skirt to cup the side of my face. He rubs his finger lightly over my swollen lips and I can't help but lean forward and capture his lips in another kiss. It's wrong. But it's also the most heartbreakingly tender kiss I've ever received. I taste blood and realize that the cut on his lip must have broken open again. I pull away and rest my forehead against his as we pant into each other's mouths.  
  
"Now what?"  
  
"I'm tired," I admit reluctantly.  
  
I wait for him to get angry, or to laugh at me, but he just asks, "You want me to drive?"  
  
I nod and ignore the quiet moan as he slides me across his lap and into the passenger seat. He slips off his jacket and hands it to me in a bundle. I tuck it between my shoulder and the window and smile my thanks.  
  
"Get some sleep," he says. "I won't go back to Monument. Knowing Mulder he's already stormed the police station."  
  
Probably. Which means he's found out that I left to 'take the suspect to a more secure facility', which I obviously haven't otherwise I would have told him on the phone. I'm gonna have a lot of explaining to do when I get back to Washington--with or without Krycek. Especially why I've casually placed my life in his hands for the next few hours while I catch some Z's.  
  
I try to stay awake and make conversation. It seems rude just to go to sleep when his pants are so obviously uncomfortable. But when I ask him about the Eagles he smiles over at me.  
  
"Go to sleep, Dana." 


	7. Boxers or Briefs?

4:37 AM  
  
Sleepy Hollow Motel  
  
outside Dallas, Texas  
  
I wake up in a still, empty car. For a moment panic seizes me. Krycek didn't abandon me on the side of the road, did he? Then I hear voices, and sit up to see him walking toward the car. The sun hasn't risen yet, but from the dim floodlights we look to be at a motel. I've stayed in enough motels to last three lifetimes.  
  
"The Ritz was booked?" I ask when he climbs back into the car and hands me a key.  
  
"No, Mulder confiscated all my cash when he arrested me. Fortunately he missed my secret stash. Unfortunately, my secret stash is only forty dollars."  
  
I note that the blinking neon sign above the main office says $49.95 per night. Pretty pricey for a motel.  
  
"So how did you pay for the room?"  
  
"I charmed the front desk clerk. Cute little thing."  
  
I find that I'm actually jealous. "Sure she was."  
  
He laughs. "Come on, Scully. You know you and Becky Millar are the only ones for me."  
  
"Becky Who?"  
  
Instead of answering, he asks, "You got a bag in the trunk?"  
  
I nod and quirk my eyebrow at the door of our room. Number 42. Very funny Krycek. I gather up my leather pillow and get out to stretch as Krycek retrieves my travel bag. So it looks like I'll be sharing a room with him. But the question I'm really burning to know is will I be sharing a bed with him? My eyes are met by two double beds, beige carpeting, wall sconces, and matching furniture. Wow. No wonder this place is expensive. It's actually nice.  
  
"Are you waiting for me to carry you over the threshold or something? Cause I'm beat."  
  
I step out of the way to let Krycek through. He sets my bag on one bed and collapses on the other. He poses an interesting picture, spread out on the bed like that. He doesn't open his eyes as I close and lock the door.  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
"Just outside of Phoenix," he answers around a yawn. "There's a flight leaving for DC at eleven tomorrow. I booked you a seat. Wake up call at eight."  
  
Well, it looks like everything's taken care of. I sit down on what apparently is my bed and take off my shoes so I can rub my feet. I have this whole stretching routine that I do after long car rides, but I'm too self conscious with Krycek in the room. Maybe I'll get the opportunity if he goes to have a shower. Then again, if he goes to have a shower I'll probably be too busy panting at the bathroom door to bother with stretching.  
  
"Do you want to shower first? Krycek?"  
  
A soft snore is my only reply. Guess that answers that question. I pad over to the side of his bed and stare down at him. He looks young in his sleep. Too young to be a fan of the Eagles, to have gone through the Academy, to be able to disarm a federal agent in the blink of an eye. I itch to lean down and press a kiss to his slightly parted lips. I really need that milkshake. Without the leather jacket to hide his black t-shirt, I can see clearly how well developed he really is. It makes me realize that he held back with me in every way. This man could hurt me. But he won't. My eyes linger on his midsection far longer than is decent, and then down those long, long legs to his boots.  
  
The first boot comes undone under my fingers before I even fully process what I'm doing. he doesn't wake up, doesn't shift, doesn't even twitch. So the second one comes off, and then both socks. There. That's better. My hand hovers indecisively over the button on his jeans. On one hand, I don't think I'd take too kindly to being undressed by a quasi-stranger. On the other hand, sleeping in jeans--especially jeans as snug as those--will be really uncomfortable.  
  
After what has to be the most pathetic internal debate I've ever had with myself, I pop open the button on his jeans. The zipper comes down ever so slowly, and when nothing appears but more brown skin my pulse increases noticeably. If Krycek is one of those guys who runs around without any underwear on I'll . . . Well, lets just say the words salivate and suction come to mind.  
  
I'm almost relieved when an elastic waistband appears. He's wearing black briefs. I smirk. Of course they're black. I curl my fingers in his belt loops and tug gently. Krycek grunts and I freeze. I just know that when I look up he'll give me that Cheshire grin and say "See anything you like, Dana?" When I finally find the courage to look up, he's still sleeping peacefully. I let out my breath and give a few more experimental tugs, finally managing to get the denim down over his hips. Now that the hard part is over, I kneel at the end of the bed and pull the jeans down his legs. They end up folded neatly on a chair, with his boots tucked safely underneath.  
  
I hear Krycek shift, and turn to admire as he absently mumbles and scratches his chest. I'd like to take off that black t-shirt as well, but then he'd definitely wake up. And I'm not quite ready for that possibility. My God, he's gorgeous. And all laid out like a buffet-- half- naked, vulnerable, oh-so-edible Alex Krycek. I wish I had a camera. And a milkshake. I don't even care what flavor it is anymore. I just need that thick cool ice cream sliding down my throat, so similar to--  
  
I stop my thoughts right there and tear my eyes from Krycek's underwear. Ok, Dana, time to cover him up or face insanity. Neither choice is particulary appealing--it's been a long time since I had a man like this in my hands--but with a sigh I move back to his bed. Task A is to get him all the way onto the bed, task B is to get him under the covers. I lean down and brush my fingers lightly over his hair.  
  
"Krycek. Krycek?" I whisper. He doesn't move.  
  
"Alex?" There we go. He mumbles something and turns his face toward my voice.  
  
"Alex. Let's get you to bed, okay?"  
  
Krycek sighs, "'Kay," and his eyelids flutter briefly before falling shut again.  
  
I put my hands under his armpits and gently urge him up the bed. I turn down the covers on one side and roll him toward it. Damn. What an ass. And I thought it looked good in jeans. He snakes his arms around the pillow and snuggles down as I reluctantly pull the sheets up over his legs. I let the covers pool around his waist and squat by the side of the bed. I thought he'd look younger in his sleep, but he seems just as dangerous and sexy as ever. I run my thumb lightly over his mouth, avoiding the cut. His lips part and I feel his tongue against my skin, drawing my thumb into his mouth. I move forward to replace my finger with my lips when his eyes open, startling me. My entire visual field is taken up by green. A moment later Krycek blinks, breaking the spell.  
  
"Dana," he breathes, eyes sinking shut. His breathing immediately evens out to slow, deep rhythm. I don't know how long I stay like that, staring at his slumbering face. The things I saw in his eyes, I don't even know how to decipher. I don't know if I want to. I think that if I grow old and forget the sound of Krycek's voice, the smell of his leather jacket, the feel of his body moving under my hands, I'll never forget the way he looked at me as he said my name just then.  
  
I finally crawl into my own bed, resigned to let my out of control thoughts turn into insomnia. I must drift off though, because the next thing I know it's morning. 


	8. The Morning After

9:49 AM  
  
Sleepy Hollow Motel  
  
  
  
The bed next to me is empty, as is the bathroom, though there is a wet towel hanging over the shower curtain rod. I peer through the curtains and notice that the car is gone, but it doesn't even occur to me that Krycek is gone for good until I see the note on the table. The note is sitting propped against a drink container. I pop off the lid and look inside, eyes widening. It's a strawberry milkshake. How could he have known? My eyes turn to the note.  
  
Dana,  
  
As you've probably figured out, I'm not going back to Washington with you. I'm sorry I have to steal your car, but mine's back in New Mexico with everything that Mulder confiscated. I hope you have enough money to catch a cab to the airport. If not, I'll make it up to you next time. Don't forget--your flight's at 11. See you around.  
  
Alex  
  
P.S. Enjoy your milkshake, and smack Mulder for me, will you?  
  
I snort and glance at my watch. Oh no. I glare at the phone. So much for wakeup calls. It's ten. I call for a cab, and start brushing my hair. I'd like to change, but I don't think there's going to be time. I'm just finishing brushing my teeth when I hear a car horn outside the door. I snatch up my bag from the bed and the note from the table. I'll have to spend the plane ride trying to come up with a story for Mulder and Skinner.  
  
***  
  
1:32 PM  
  
AD Skinner's office  
  
FBI Headquarters  
  
"He what!?"  
  
I decide to stick to simple, as bad as it might reflect on my abilities as a federal agent. "He overpowered me, Mulder, and took the car. My plane ticket disappeared, so I had to wait until this morning."  
  
"Why didn't you call me? I tried to get ahold of you all night."  
  
Good question. "He took my cell phone. Did I forget to mention I was stranded in the desert? In the middle of the night?"  
  
I can tell Mulder's about to cave. Skinner still looks upset. And who can blame him? He met me at the airport. Seems he'd been there since last night, waiting for me to show up with Krycek. Oops.  
  
"Look Mulder, Sir, I'm tired and dirty. I'd really like to go home for a little while." I think I smell too, like sweat and sand, and maybe even a hint of leather. I'm the epitome of rumpled, ragged, helpless female at the moment.  
  
Mulder offers to drive me home, and I reluctantly accept. Thankfully, the drive is silent. I hope that Mulder thinks my silence is due to the guilt of letting Krycek get away. Because in reality I'm fantasizing about all the ways he could have woke me up in the hotel. Good thing he snuck off, or we'd probably still be in Texas.  
  
"Home sweet home," Mulder says as we pull up to my building, snapping me out of my daze.  
  
"Yeah, thanks Mulder. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"  
  
He just nods as I climb out of the car, but he's got that look on his face like he wants to say something. He follows me to the trunk as I get my overnight bag.  
  
"What is it, Mulder?"  
  
"Scully, nothing happened, did it? I mean, he didn't . . ."  
  
Rape me? I suddenly feel overwhelmed with guilt that has little to do with Krycek. Mulder's been really worried about me, and I've been lying through my teeth to him since last night.  
  
"I'm fine. Really." I smile to confirm it, and turn to go. I'm almost home free when he speaks up again.  
  
"Hey, Scully, you dropped something."  
  
I turn, having no idea what he's talking about. I'm only carrying my bag. Mulder takes a few steps toward me before he freezes, and I follow his gaze. Oh no. This has got to be a bad dream. I'm going to wake up any second now.  
  
Lying between us on the sidewalk is a condom. The shiny foil condom wrapper that Krycek tossed to me and I stuffed in my pocket and forgot about. I could always say that I didn't drop it, but Mulder's eagle eyes probably saw it fall out of my pocket. I bend awkwardly to retrieve it.  
  
"Uh, thanks," I say, turning and walking away quickly. But not quickly enough to miss the glimmer of suspicion in his eyes. 


	9. Ice Cream, Eagles, and Stereotypes

6:36 PM  
  
Scully's Apartment  
  
I drop my purse, keys, and jacket inside the door and head straight for the couch. It's been two weeks since my adventure with Krycek, and every day, Mulder has managed to work in some sort of veiled accusation. I finally called him on it today, and he claimed that he was just teasing me, but I wasn't buying it. If I was Mulder I'd be suspicous of me too. So I try not to think about Krycek at work--I think I get this faraway look on my face that makes it glaringly obvious that my mind is someplace else. And that place is nice, rather than the kidnapping terror that it's supposed to be. I pop a cherry candy in my mouth. I've taken to carrying them around again.  
  
I'm sure Mulder's suspicion will pass, like it did when we started working together. I'll probably never see Krycek again and the whole thing will fade into some weird, erotic dream. I glance around my dim apartment restlessly. I'm exhausted from dealing with Mulder all day, but I need to get out. Be around regular people for awhile. People who don't worry about aliens, or goverment conspiracies, or whatever the hell else Mulder has rattling around in that Oxford brain of his. Sometimes I wish my biggest worry was still getting papers graded on time.  
  
I exchange my suit for some loose fitting pants and a t-shirt. My work clothes land in a rumpled heap on the floor and after a moment I decide to leave them there to wrinkle. I don't know what's with me lately, but ever since Krycek . . . I just haven't cared about little things so much. Mulder was even forced to type up a report yesterday when he realized that I actually wasn't going to do it for him.  
  
I wander with no real destination in mind. My mind floods with thoughts of Krycek after spending all day trying not to think about him. Sometimes I think about the night in New Mexico and it seems like I was another person. It wasn't me that practically seduced Krycek in the interrogation room. It wasn't me that took him from the police station. It wasn't me that kissed him, wasn't me that undressed him and slept peacefully with him not more than five feet away. It wasn't me that let him go and then lied about it. But then I think of the way his lips felt under mine, the way I arched and moaned into his touch. That was all me, and I can't deny it. I think I have a crush on Alex Krycek.  
  
The thought startles me into laughter. I haven't had a crush since . . . well, since a certain professor from my college days. But that quickly turned into so much more. I can't picture that with Krycek. What would it like to be in a relationship with him? Never knowing where he is half the time, never knowing if he's going to come home alive, always wondering what awful, illegal thing he had done this time. Oh, but to have just one night with those lips and those hands. Somewhere down inside I wish I'd taken advantage of our time alone. It's been so long, and since Krycek, my own fingers have become frustratingly inadequate. Just one night . . .  
  
That's when Dana Scully, FBI asserts herself and insists that I can't, because it would be against the law to consort with a known felon. I'd lose my job, and any future I have in the FBI, possibly go to jail. Good Catholic girls just don't do those sorts of things. But I don't think I'm a good Catholic girl anymore.  
  
The sound of a bell draws my attention to the streetcorner. A man on a bike is surrounded by children--children buying ice cream. My stomach growls. It's not a milkshake, but what the hell. I insinuate myself in the group of kids, trying to ignore the way the ice cream man's eyes rake over me. If I see him look at one of the kids that way I'll arrest him on the spot. I might arrest him anyway if he doesn't stop trying to get a good look at my ass--sexual harrassment of a federal officer.  
  
"Cherry cheesecake, please."  
  
"Cherry's my favorite you know. Red."  
  
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and settle for a mild glare. "One scoop."  
  
His face falls a little, and he gives me two big helpings of cherry cheesecake, only charging for one. "I don't think I've seen you before. Live around here?"  
  
"No," I answer, dropping the correct change in his palm. I smile politely and walk away. Like I'd date an ice cream man. Oh, but you'd date a criminal, wouldn't you?  
  
No. I wouldn't date him, but I'd . . . yeah, it takes me a minute to even admit it to myself. I'd really sleep with him. In a heartbeat if I got the opportunity. I'll have to ask Mulder if he's heard about a time machine in any of his X-Files. I could use one. I wake up at night sometimes with the sound of Krycek's husky voice whispering "Dana." I will away the instant heat that pools between my thighs. If I had a time machine I'd go back to the Sleepy Hollow Motel, to that very instant. And instead of watching him sleep, I'd strip off my clothes and crawl under the covers with him. He would have woken up pretty fast, I bet.  
  
I slow as I come to the Tower Records that I walk by all the time without a second glance. Today, something gives me pause. I stare at the display of CD's in the window, and timidly make my way through the door. I still have my ice cream, but no one says anything, so I venture further inside. It takes less that a minute to find what I'm looking for. The Best of the Eagles. It has Hotel California on it, and some other titles that sound vaguely familiar. I turn toward the cashier, then look down at the CD. Why am I buying this? So if Krycek comes over he has music to listen to? That's ridiculous. I just like the song, is all.  
  
The cashier, a gangly teenager with green hair and a penny stretching a hole in his earlobe, glances at the CD and then back at me. He does it a few more times.  
  
"What?" I ask. He's looking at me like *I've* got pennies in my ears. What is with kids these days?  
  
After a moment he replies, "You just don't seem like the Eagles type."  
  
I frown. There's an Eagles type? I just want to buy the damn CD and get out of the store before I think better of it, but I have to ask. "And what type do I seem like?" I expect him to say Barry Manilow, or Chris de Burgh, or one of those 'lame' singers that people my age are supposed to listen to.  
  
The casheir cocks his head and stares at me for a beat. "Beethoven. Debussy. Especially 'Clair de Lune' because it's simple and bittersweet."  
  
Okaaaaaay. I wasn't expecting that. And now I'm a little disturbed. Not because he's right, but because I've obviously and incorrectly prejudged a perfect stranger. This kid is the last person I would ever expect to know anything about Debussy. I think of Krycek, and how people aren't always what they appear. I should have learned that lesson by now.  
  
My surprise must be obvious, because the teenager turns a little pink and smiles as he runs my purchase through. "Sorry. I'm pretty good at reading people. You'll really like 'Hotel California'."  
  
You have no idea, I think to myself, grinning as I leave the store. 


	10. The Call

9:16  
  
Scully's Bathroom  
  
Wine.  
  
Check.  
  
Candles.  
  
Check.  
  
Music.  
  
I push the 'play' button on my stereo and pad back to the bathroom. The sound of a guitar begins to float through the apartment.  
  
Check.  
  
Bubblebath.  
  
I let my satin robe pool at my feet and slide into the hot water.  
  
Check.  
  
A long sigh escapes my lips. Candle-lit bubble baths used to be a weekly tradition before I entered the world known as 'the X-files'. It seems that all I do lately is have quick snacks and take quick showers in case the phone rings. The phone is on the counter within reach, but I've already decided that I'm not getting out of the tub unless the building is on fire. Mulder can call, but after the week he's given me he's more likely to get a 'screw you' than a 'sure Mulder, I'll be there right away'. I don't care if bigfoot is camped out in his living room--they can play rock-paper- scissors for who gets the couch.  
  
I take a sip of wine and lean my head against the edge of the tub, feeling the bubbles tickle my chin. As a doctor, I know that drinking in such high temperatures can be risky, but as a person who's had a really trying week, frankly, I don't give a damn. Now I'm quoting Gone With the Wind. How pathetic is my life? A voice deep inside nags at me, 'really pathetic, especially since you passed up Alex Krycek because you were too scared to give in.'  
  
My next sigh has less to do with relaxation, and more to do with frustration. I kept his note--it's tucked away in my jewelry box like a momento from a high school crush. And seeing as how I have it memorized, I know that he indicated there would be a 'next time'. Does he expect me to go looking for him? Because I wouldn't know where to start. The Lone Gunmen can't even locate him, no matter how much Mulder yells. I wonder what they would say if they knew why Mulder hated Krycek so much?  
  
Maybe I'll just turn around one day and he'll be there. Wearing his leather jacket and tight jeans, with that smirk that makes me feel incredibly dirty in the best way I can imagine. Or for a completely different picture, bobbing his head and singing along with the radio, looking carefree and happy. Both scenarios make me squirm and rub my thighs together. As if on cue, Hotel California begins to play. I still to listen to the song that Alex Krycek likes so much, hoping maybe it will give me a clue about what makes him tick.  
  
The opening line makes me smile, thinking back to our own desert drive. My humor fades somewhat as I listen to the rest of the words. It's not a very happy song. It seems to be about going out of control, losing hope, being lost. Does Krycek feel that way? Is he trapped in a place he can't get out of, hopeless and lost? I go to take another sip of my wine, and realize with a start that the glass is empty. When did that happen? I fumble for the bottle on the floor and pour myself another drink. Maybe I should stop playing amateur psychologist and just enjoy the song. Next thing you know I'll be pronouncing him some misunderstood hero.  
  
I lift my leg out of the tub, watching the bubbles slide slowly back into the water. It's a nice leg. I wonder if Krycek thinks so. I don't wear skirts very often because they're hard to run in. Plus it's hard to be 'one of the boys' when said boys are taking bets on what color your underwear are beneath that skirt. I laugh through my nose. One of these days I'm going to find the courage to wear a skirt with *no* underwear. Give me a private joke to lord over their heads all day. Men can be such jerks sometimes.  
  
When the phone startles me out of my thoughts, I immediately think of Mulder and what a jerk he's been and that if he thinks I'm going to talk to him right now he's got another think coming. Who else would be calling me on a Friday night?  
  
I reach over and grab the cordless, pressing the talk button. "Look, Mulder. If this is about those crop circles, I told you the pattern was inconsistent with . . ." I trail off. Mulder usually would have jumped in and tried to defend his theory by now. The only other person it could be is Mom, so why isn't she saying anything?  
  
"Crop circles?" comes the husky voice. There's a faint chuckle in there somewhere. "Really, Agent Scully. Don't you have anything better to do on a Friday night?"  
  
Oh. That's why she wasn't saying anything. Because my Mom is Alex Krycek. A thousand thoughts whirr through my brain, most of them equating with a primitive animalistic growl.  
  
"What do you think, Dana?"  
  
God, I think you could make a living as a phone sex operator. I'd call.  
  
Don't I have anything better to do? Besides you?  
  
I settle for clearing my throat, and trying to speak, but nothing comes out. I think I passed out in the bathtub and I'm dreaming that Krycek is speaking to me. In which case I'm probably drowning, but it's a nice dream . . .  
  
"Hello?" he says, after my indefinite silence.  
  
God. He must think I'm an idiot. "Krycek?" I manage to squeak. Oh great. Wow him with your mammoth intelligence.  
  
"Give the lady a kewpie doll. How have you been Agent Scully?"  
  
I wish he'd call me Dana, but I don't know how to ask without sounding completely pathetic. "Fine." Except when I've been lusting after you like a rabid school girl.  
  
"And Mulder? How has he been?"  
  
"Annoying," I mutter. He laughs. It's a pleasant sound. I try to imagine him, eyes crinkling at the corners, lips opening, broad shoulders shaking. I'm finding it impossibly hard to make conversation. What do you say to Alex Krycek? 'So, kill anyone important today?' I say the first thing that comes to mind.  
  
"Thanks for the milkshake."  
  
"You're welcome," he purrs, and the sound goes straight to my groin. I squirm again, and some water sloshes over the rim of the tub and onto the floor. Damn. I should have hung up my robe.  
  
There's a pause. "Where are you, Scully?"  
  
Now this could lead down all sorts of interesting roads. "I'm in the bathtub. Where are you?" What I'm really hoping he'll say is that he's calling me from the payphone down the street.  
  
"In some dreary hellhole called London."  
  
My hopes plummet, but I try to keep my voice light. "I'm sure the English don't share your sentiments."  
  
"Yeah, well they can take their bloody rain and their bloody tea and shove it up their bloody arses," he says in a ridiculous accent.  
  
I can't help but giggle. I'll blame it on the wine when I'm more sober.  
  
"So . . . you're really in the bathtub?" There's a definite note of interest in his voice. "I guess I don't have to ask what you're wearing."  
  
"Just bubbles," I reply, and a tiny choking noise comes back over the line. I grin to myself.  
  
"And what are you doing in the bathtub?" His voice is almost a growl  
  
"Relaxing, having some wine, listening to music."  
  
"I can hear it in the background. Sounds familiar."  
  
I don't want to admit it, but he's going to figure it out anyway. "It's the Eagles."  
  
"I thought you didn't like the Eagles."  
  
"I never said that. I just never listened to them before."  
  
I can see his smirk over the line. "But you do now. Interesting. And why is that, Agent Scully?"  
  
If he were here now, he'd see that my face is going completely red. Time to change the topic.  
  
"How did you know I wanted a strawberry milkshake?" And why didn't I bring any of those candies in here with me? I lick my lips and shift in the tub.  
  
"I have ESP. I can read your every thought."  
  
I laugh and take another sip of my wine. "I doubt that, Krycek."  
  
I expect him to question that, but he says, "Alright. So I don't have ESP. But you do talk in your sleep."  
  
"I do not!" ESP is more likely.  
  
"Yes, you do. I distinctly remember hearing 'milkshake' and 'strawberry'. There could have been something that sounded sort of like 'Walter', but I don't really want to know."  
  
Oh God. Could this be any more embarrassing? He might just be making it up, but I don't think so.  
  
"I think I even recall hearing my name a few times. Nearly drove me off the road." The "Aaaaaalex," that he groans out in my ear is distinctly sexual. Oh. God. Did I really do that? Did it really sound like that? If he says my name like that the bathwater will probably start boiling. My hand begins tracing lazy circles around my bellybutton, inching toward my pubic hair. I've got to get back in charge of the situation, but he beats me to it. Was I ever really in charge?  
  
"Thanks for tucking me in, by the way. You should have woken me up. I would have given you a hand."  
  
Or two. And probably a tongue as well. "I managed fine on my own." So delicately that I can barely feel it, I run my fingers over my outer lips, teasing, circling. One leg goes up and hooks over the side of the tub and I rock back and forth slightly. The other leg goes up over the opposite side. I let out a quiet sigh. The gently pulsing water is doing amazing things.  
  
"Hmm. I don't know about that. I still had half my clothes on."  
  
In my head I'm leaning down to taste the bronzed skin just above the elastic of his black briefs. He's got strong fingers tangled in my hair, nudging me south none-to-gently. I grab the waistband with my teeth and start to pull . . .  
  
"Well, that was then." My voice is slightly hoarse.  
  
"And this is now? What are you implying with your use of cliche?"  
  
Of their own will, my fingers begin a final descent, not stopping until my thumb brushes over my clit and I've got my middle finger buried inside myself. "That that was then," I breathe, suppressing a whimper of desire. Because if you were here now . . .  
  
I guess I'm not that subtle, because his tone darkens. "I thought you were having a bath, Dana."  
  
Oh God, there it is. He said my name with that voice. My breath hitches. "I am." Yes, my fingers have become inadequate, but if he keeps talking I just might be able to imagine that he's the one touching me. It's his strong finger slowing working in and out of my grasping warmth, curving upward, thrusting . . .  
  
"Mmm hmm. What are you really doing?"  
  
I'm going to be coming if he keeps talking to me with that voice. It's low, and husky, and dangerous, and sexy, and if he was here he'd only have time to remove the leather jacket before I'd pull him in with me.  
  
"I-I'm listening to my new Eagles CD," I stutter. Good Lord, I'm panting now, and there's no way that he can *not* realize what I'm doing. I'm getting off while on the phone with Krycek. I squeeze the phone between my shoulder and my ear so I can free up my other hand. I pinch my nipple hard rolling and tugging it between my fingers. The tiny sparks of electricity spreading from my chest jolt my limbs. More water splashes onto the floor. I'm gonna have a mess to clean up.  
  
I hear harsh breathing, and am surprised to realize it's not me. Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one getting some enjoyment out of this. Two fingers now, and I let out a high pitched moan as my hand speeds up. My other hand has gotten restless, and begins alternating between my breasts and my clit. There's an answering groan in my ear.  
  
"God, Dana. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"  
  
My hips buck upward at his words, and I have enough presence of mind to pull the plug with my toes. Don't want to flood the whole bathroom.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
He doesn't even hesitate. His words tumble into my ear and scorch a path straight to my pelvis. "You're the smartest, sexiest woman I've ever known. Being with you was like a wet dream, and I want you so much it drives me crazy. I can't stop thinking about feel of your lips, the smell of your hair. I want to taste all of you, Dana. Every single inch, and--" I think I hear the sound of a zipper. There's a strangled moan and a faint "Oh Jesus," that makes me speed up my own thrusts. I need to hear him talk. I want to come with him growling in my ear.  
  
"W-what are you doing, Kry-Krycek?" My calves are starting to cramp with strain, and I know my left hand is going to be sore tomorrow, but I'm not stopping until I hear him come with my name on his lips. Thank God I'm right handed.  
  
"I'm touching myself, Dana. Wishing I were touching you."  
  
I arch against my hand with a long groan. Just keep talking, I want to scream. But I'm too busy mewling and thrashing against the side of the tub to produce anything that sounds like english.  
  
"Do you wish I were touching you?"  
  
"Yes," I manage to gasp. "Yesssss. Oh. Oh Gooooood." There's a tightly coiled spring in my belly, and I know in just a few more seconds I'm going to lose it. I can't even make out Krycek's words anymore--just the smokey timbre of his voice--as I tumble over the precipice. The phone falls from my shoulder as I toss back my head and cry out. It could be his name, it could be Skinner's name, it could be Don Henley's name for all I know. I come long and hard, stars exploding behind my squeezed-shut eyelids, every muscle locked and straining as I ride out the waves of my orgasm. 


	11. Nothing Left to do but Wait

My legs slide down into the empty bathtub and I lay there bonelessly panting with the cool air peaking my nipples and creating goosebumps on the rest of my flesh. I don't want to move. Ever. Again. Slowly, the background music begins to work it's way back into my awareness. A lifetime later I force my eyes to open, somewhat surprised to see the walls of my bathroom, the flickering candlelight. I'd almost expected to be transported to some bliss dimension where Krycek would be standing there with the top button of his jeans undone, staring at me with a blazing green come hither look. That would be an x-file all in itself. My own personal, private x-file.  
  
Speaking of Krycek . . . I glance around the tub, groaning with the effort of reaching for the phone that's underneath my right calf. Even before I get the phone to my ear I can hear him shouting my name over the line.  
  
"Scully! Scully can you hear me? Are you there?"  
  
"I'm here, Krycek." Barely. I'm surprised he actually hears my soft- spoken words over his own yelling.  
  
"Jesus! I thought you'd died or something!"  
  
"Me too," I smirk. Then the full meaning of his words penetrates my lust addled brain. Because it sounds like he cares. Like he'd really be upset if something happened to me.  
  
"That's not funny, Dana. Well, yeah, it is, but--" He lets out a creative string of curses, ending with, " . . . give me a myo-fucking-cardial infarction."  
  
I'm impressed. He must really have been paying attention in pathology class. I wonder again if he was one of the hundreds of faces I taught. I'll have to remember to ask him, but now just doesn't seem like the right time.  
  
"Relax, Krycek," I say, not pausing to consider the absurdity of my words. When I used to think of reassuring Krycek, it was usually more along the lines of, "You have the right to an attourney."  
  
"I'm fine. I'm better than fine, actually."  
  
"Yeah, well I'm not." I can see that pouty expression in my mind. So he was worried about me. And he probably didn't get to have a mind-blowing orgasm like I just did. No wonder he's upset.  
  
"Well, if you're so worried, what are you doing in London?" It's a blatant invitation, and I'm shocked at myself until I remember that I just got off while on the phone with him.  
  
"Currently, I'm chaining myself to a radiator so I don't run to the airport."  
  
I roll my eyes. Krycek is a drama queen. Who knew? "This is going to be an awfully steep phone bill, you know."  
  
"It's worth it."  
  
There. My heart did that flip flop thing again. I should say something back, like "Yeah, it is" but the words freeze in my throat. I'm not good at sentimental at the best of times. And right now I'm laying in an uncomfortable, cold, slippery bathtub.  
  
"Dana," he says, and has to clear his throat before continuing. His words sound uncertain, almost like a question. "I can be back in the States by Sunday night."  
  
That's two days from now. He's asking my permission, if it's really okay that he comes to see me. Hell yes, I think.  
  
"But you'll miss church," I joke. I haven't gone to church in a long time, but it's more subtle than shouting, "Get your ass over here NOW."  
  
He chuckles. I wonder how many people get to hear him laugh. Somehow I think I'm one of the privileged few. Because he can't have all that many reasons to laugh.  
  
"I'll do what I can, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I've got to go."  
  
"Okay." Suddenly that's all I can say. And no, it's not okay. But I know he's got a job to do--a dangerous job. And if he gets himself killed because he's being distracted by me, I'll kill him.  
  
I hear a sound over the line, like he was about to speak and stopped himself. After a beat he says, "I'll see you later, Dana." I don't think that's what he was going to say, but I don't know how to ask.  
  
"Yeah. I'll see you Kry . . . Alex." I can almost hear his delighted smile over the line. Well, it doesn't seem right to call him by his last name after what just happened.  
  
"Bye."  
  
He's gone before I can even reciprocate. I stare at the phone for a minute, and then let my hand drop onto my stomach. Two days, I keep telling myself. Two more days.  
  
I might still be lying here in the bathtub when he arrives. Might not be such a bad idea. Plus I really don't think I can move my legs. 


End file.
